Those Whom No One Loves
by Jersey Wolf
Summary: Tom goes out for a walk and seeks the warmth of a local landmark, but of course nothing ever goes normally for Tom. Heaven forbid.


**Author's Note:** Oh look! A story! See? I'm not dead. Just busy with school, but was just on spring break so I was able to polish some ideas I've been having. More Tom dribble because he's interesting. Flaws and all. Anyway, an idea that came to my head as I thought about something I hear whenever my parents manage to drag me to church. Note: This has NOTHING to do with my own religious views. I will be keeping those to myself. Also, I've been to the place where Tom is so I did my best to remember it (looking at photos, digging through memories). Also, was thinking about the part in the movie where Tom admits he's not terribly religious. Only making this more awkward. So, yeah, good times. Oh! And in other news I'm trying to get a friend of mine (also writer of P2 fanfiction) on here so there can be more of this stuff. Wish me luck. Anyway...Read and review as always!

Tom found himself wandering the streets of midtown trying not to step on the feet of tourists (people didn't like getting their toes stepped on right?) and trying to kill time before he had to go to work. Work…that really wasn't something he wanted to think about so he buried it under other thoughts like what sort of a day it was. Busying himself with the shadows on the ground and the position of the sun.

It was one of those bitingly cold February days that fooled you into thinking it was warm with sunshine, but when you went outside you were met with frigid weather. It looked nice enough, but it felt like a fridge with a breeze, and Tom could see the other people on the street were cold as well, with their jackets and their scarves, but it didn't make him feel any warmer. In fact it made him colder. Why hadn't he worn a hat? Uncomfortable. Or maybe a scarf? Didn't own one. He'd always been sensitive to New York's fondness for cold days and seemingly always cold buildings, being raised in sunny California could do that to a person, and he pulled his coat closer to him while trying to keep his hands warm at the same time. The man stuck his hands in his pockets, but now his chest was cold with his jacket falling back to his sides without his hands to hold them in place. He could have zipped up his jacket, but he didn't want to stop walking and move off to the side. He thought people would stare, and then he'd feel weird, and he didn't want to feel weird.

Still cold, Tom decided that a little indoor time was in order and looked up at the building he was in front of. St. Patrick's Cathedral, its architecture standing out amongst the skyscrapers and apartment buildings with its detailing and its ornate windows and doors. Was it Gothic? Some fancy style like that he figured but didn't know. Tom was a bit irritated that he hadn't realized he'd been walking toward the landmark but said nothing about it or even let him self think beyond the reflexive emotion. He wasn't in the mood to be upset. Then again, very rarely was he in the mood to get upset, but it seemed to be happening so much. He was so irritable recently. It was probably the job…no, he wasn't thinking about the job. Not now.

"It's probably warm in there," Tom muttered to himself taking a few confident steps toward one set of large doors, but he stopped momentarily. He didn't know why he hesitated, shrugged it off, and continued on. Once inside Tom was struck, or at least it felt like it, with the warmth of human bodies, busying themselves at the sight. True, it wasn't Christmas time or some other holiday like that, but there was still a fair amount of people in the entryway, and the man could only figure that there were more within the actual sanctuary itself. This was one of those things people visiting New York visited by default. He should have known that so why did the crowd surprise him?

It made him feel claustrophobic and unnerved, but he didn't want to leave. It was cold out there. He hated the cold. Tom managed to escape the entrance area with its continuous flow of people coming in and out and in and out again. He could finally breathe. He hadn't noticed how heavy his chest had felt until he felt the mental weight ease off of him as he looked around.

The ceilings were high, and the whole place just felt intimidating and large with its rows upon rows of pews and the smell of incense that made Tom feel a little dizzy. Tom wanted to cover his nose, but that was rude. He felt small and insecure and took a step back as if to retreat back to the cold where at least he knew where he stood. However, he hadn't thought to look behind him and bumped, quite hard, into a tourist. They both made startled noises upon impact, and Tom quickly turned to see what he'd hit. The tourist, young guy, younger than Tom in fact, staring at the older of the pair in a way that made Tom's stomach feel like it was being squeezed. The boy had on a newsie style cap, and had Tom not been so flustered he might have thought it was cool.

"Sorry," he said hurriedly, taking a jerky step backward before turning his back to the boy and retreating farther into the sanctuary of St. Patrick's rather than his original plan to make for the doors.

Once feeling a safe enough distance away Tom sighed and resigned himself to the idea that he was going to spend some more time in the place. At least there were things to look at as he walked along the edge past the votive candles and statues. What were these things called again? Stations of the cross? Something like that? Tom couldn't remember. He wasn't terribly religious if at all, and he couldn't remember ever being Catholic so either way it was a foreign sight. His lack of knowledge only made him feel more awkward as he tried to avoid stepping on the heels or toes of the people who actually had valid reasons for being here.

No, Tom had a valid reason for being in here. Warmth. That was valid wasn't it? Shit, no it wasn't. Valid was coming to have your soul saved. Valid was…well, it certainly wasn't seeking out momentary warmth.

Why had he chosen here of all places to invade for warmth? He could have easily slipped into another building. Avoided trespassing on a place such as this. Walking a little farther wouldn't have killed him. But no, here he was in a church feeling like an impostor. Taking advantage of the refuge of others. Scavenging for comfort. He wasn't here to gawk at the statues, not intentionally anyway, or the architecture with its columns and fancy stained glass windows. Nor was he among the throngs of the devout who had come to pray or light one of those damn votive candles. Yes, he was an impostor on holy ground.

Tom had to admit it was pretty though while he gazed up at one of the colored windows. As little as he had initially cared the details of it all it was pleasing to eye, and he was somewhat glad he'd come in. At least it was interesting, and his eyes took in as much as they could.

He picked up his head, turning away from one of the statues he'd been fixating upon, debating whether or not it was a saint of just some person, and noticed that he was getting close to the front of the church. It looked like a stage and Tom quickly shied away from it and into a pew. Walking along the edge he'd felt like he'd been able to hide, but up there…up there he'd be seen by the eyes of God and everyone. Up there he'd be exposed as an impostor. He couldn't do it.

Taking a seat, Tom stared around as he tried to ignore how uncomfortable the seat felt, but it was hard. Were pews supposed to be this damn uncomfortable? _Don't slouch, Thomas. You think God wants to see you slouch? Sit up and pay attention._ The sudden voice from his past jarred Tom's mind and he instantly sat up straighter. It sounded just like his aunt. At least he thought it did. He couldn't quite remember, and realizing that he started to shift uncomfortably in his seat. _Don't fidget. Can't you sit still for two seconds?_

"No," Tom whispered, moving his hands to sit on them. The voice silenced, Tom was once more left with the sounds of St. Patrick's. Even with all the people in it, their whispers and meditative state gave the place and eerie sense of quiet. It was unsettling and he needed to find something else to focus on. He almost reached out to take a look at one of the hymnals. _Don't fidget._ He quickly drew his hands back to his side and back under him. They started to tingle as his circulation was restricted by his own weight. Pins and needles…

He spotted several people with their heads bowed, kneeling on little padded things that Tom had noticed were attached to the pew in front of his. Probably all of them did. He didn't bother to look. Not wanting to look out of place with his hands under his rump and a stare that lasted too long, the man mimicked the people he saw, kneeling on the pads and bowing his head, but unlike the people he saw Tom's eyes were open. Searching his knees for some kind of answer. Maybe he could try to pray?

_What did you pray for, Thomas?_

_I asked God for a new record player._

_A new record player? Boy, don't you know how to pray correctly?_

_I'm sorry._

_You should be. Now quit being silly and hurry up. _

"Sorry," he whispered. No, he couldn't pray. He just couldn't. Whatever was out there if anything at all probably didn't want to hear the prayers of a parking attendant. Didn't want to hear his thoughts or concerns. Tom didn't even want to hear them himself at times. They made him feel guilty.

What did people do in a place like this when they were feeling guilty? Confession…that's what they did wasn't it? In some dark secret corner because they knew what they were confessing was wrong. It had to be done away from others. In private. But, no, no…actually tell another person how he was feeling? To confide in someone he couldn't see and didn't know? Tell them how he'd been "bad"? About his increasingly violent thoughts? His unfulfilled desires for both cold vengeance and a warm touch? Maybe more than just a touch?

_Thomas, do you think about girls?_

_I guess so._

_What kind of thoughts?_

_What do you mean? Did I do something?_

_Don't avoid the question, boy._

Hands gripping the seat in front of him, the man pushed himself back into his seat his eyes closed and teeth clenched. Memories, memories…they always seemed to crop up at the strangest times. Tom tried to empty his mind, tightening his grip until his knuckles were white and he could feel them becoming sore. Tingling replaced with pain. Still, memories were persistent things. Hardy. Sometimes not even pain could drive them away. Some pain even brought them out stronger.

_They had better be pure thoughts. I'll have no mischief on my watch._

_No mischief. I promise._

_Good boy._

Tom bit his lip as his mind wandered to a specific girl. A specific woman. Pure thoughts? Pure thoughts didn't have this kind of strength. This sort of potency. The things these thoughts could make someone do were not a laughing or matter or something that should be shared. No one else was meant to hear these thoughts. Not even a man of God. Especially not a man of God. This had nothing to do with God.

Man of God…Tom lifted his head, which he hadn't noticed he'd bowed again with a hand pressing on the back of his skull. When had it gotten there? Man of God…what had a man of God once said? Something important. Something memorable.

_And may the grace, power, and peace of God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit be with you and those whom you love and those whom no one loves wherever they may be this day henceforth and forever more. Amen._

Benediction. That's what that had been. This memorable thing that was clearer that most parts of his memory was a...a…Benediction. From a time long ago in a land on the other side of the country. Why did he remember? Why did it stick out?

_Those whom no one loves? That's silly. There can't possibly be people that no one loves._

_Thomas, hush._

_But it doesn't make sense. There can't be people in the world that no one loves._

"Oh, yes, there can be," Tom sighed, making sure to keep his voice low so as not to disturb the rule of meditation and silence. "You should know that." He pulled his feet under the pew, the sound of them scuffing along the floor seeming like jackhammers, and Tom could have sworn that everyone had heard. No one had even turned his or her head, but Tom knew. He knew they were wondering who had made the sound. Who disrupted the sanctity? It was him. It was the stupid looking parking attendant crammed into one of the pews and looking out of place.

That was it. Tom couldn't stand being in here anymore. It was a place filled with heaviness and a power Tom couldn't deny. Be it God or simply the feeling of a million human souls staring into your own, the man wanted out, and he stood up and shimmied out of the pew. Why were they always so awkwardly spaced? Like they wanted you to look weird when you got out of them. Like God was clinging onto you. Making it hard for you to move. Making a spectacle of you as you left so that others could stare at you and know you were the terrible person who didn't want to be here. Tom didn't like it one little bit.

_Those whom no one loves…_

Who were they? Was there a "they", or was it just Tom? Why had he come in here? This wasn't right. None of this was. He had to get out. It was crushing him. Swallowing him up. Spitting him out again. Escape was the only option before he succumbed to the pressure and was flattened. The tension was building up inside, and if he didn't leave his lungs would be compressed, releasing the tension out onto the world. Feet go faster. Feet, why don't you listen? Run. Run dammit! Don't you know there's an explosion coming? Run. Before it kills you. Before it engulfs you.

_Whom no one loves…_

Perhaps he was just being paranoid. Maybe it was all in his head, and he was just being uptight. Maybe…Tom felt his pace start to slow until he was almost at a stop, but his mind was still all about the place. Jumping from pew to pew, knocking over statues, extinguishing people's prayers, tearing up the hymnals, scribbling in the Bibles, and taking a piss in the offering plate. Sacrilege. Blasphemy.

Tom spotted something out of the corner of his eye as he walked. Was that what he thought it was? A gift shop? He hadn't noticed it before. He hadn't been looking. Fuck, nothing was sacred anymore. Not this place of worship to a God Tom wasn't even sure was there. Not even in his own mind was there refuge. Sanctuary was just a fancy name for an ideal. It didn't truly exist. Everything was up for grabs.

With something sounding like a growl the man pushed through a group of people who were entering the "sanctuary" with renewed speed. He didn't stop to look at them, but he heard one of them curse in annoyance.

"You shouldn't curse in a church," he called back sounding both teasing and genuine. Why had he spoken? He shouldn't have spoken. In church children were supposed to be seen and not heard.

_No one loves…_

No one loves whom? Did no one love anyone anymore? Who did no one love? Tom finally managed to get out into the open air one more not sure if he'd bumped into anyone else or if he'd opened the door himself. He walked a few feet before slumping down onto one of the steps, but taking care to be as out of the way as he could be. He bit his hand. It was the only thing keeping him from yelling. He was done with people. He was done with their customs and their systems. He was done with trying to deal. At least for today. Tom removed his hand from his face. Eruption avoided. The active volcano decided that it would save a giant explosion for another day.

"No one loves Tom. That's who," he said pulling his knees up close to his chest and rested his chin on his knees. A few people passed him by without a second glance while others took a moment or two to look at the man who sat upon the church steps looking like a lost and frustrated child.

_Love…_

Love. What was that? Was it something he was supposed to find on grounds such as these? Had he not been worthy of finding it? Could everyone else see the love and welcome it with open arms while Tom could not? Was the warmth he'd craved a side effect? Was that why he'd felt coldness, unrest, and discomfort in a place made for prayers?

Tom breathed out through his nose and lifted his head. Whatever it was Tom just couldn't seem to grasp it. Not yet. But with whatever resided within the universe as his witness he was going to attain it. He was going to get a taste of this figment of a feeling if it killed him. The impostor was going to find his way to the Holy Land, so help him God…


End file.
